March 27, 2027

"Damn that Heishiro," Asuka complained. "He's so annoying!"
Kyoko nodded. "Yes, well, teenaged boys are like that."
"He's not even a teenager yet," Asuka noted. "And why should I have to babysit him, anyway?"
Kyoko shrugged. "You're the one who agreed to help them out," she noted. "Against my objections, I might add."
"Tch," Asuka said. "Misato's family to me, even if she isn't to you."
"Even so," Kyoko said, "this is your own doing."
Asuka glowered at her, then sighed and let it go.
Kyoko glanced at her daughter sidelong. "That aside," she said, "this is good practice for you."
Asuka blinked. "Eh?"
"For when you have children of your own, I mean," Kyoko clarified.
Asuka made a sour face. "I don't want children. Like, ever."
Kyoko pulled back at that. "Never?" she asked.
"Nope," Asuka said, shaking her head. "Can't stand the things."
Kyoko smirked at her. "Oh, c'mon. They're not so bad."
Asuka glared at her mother. "Even the babies?" she asked.
"Even the babies," Kyoko said, nodding.
Asuka shrugged. "I don't care," she said. "I want nothing to do with them."
"That's a shame," Kyoko said. She frowned. "Does Shinji feel the same way?"
Asuka stared at her curiously. "Who cares? If I don't want them we aren't gonna have them, simple as that."
"Asuka . . . " Kyoko began. She sighed. "It's not that simple," she said. "If you two want different things . . . " she began.
Asuka stared at her curiously. "What are you getting at?" she asked.
Kyoko sighed. "If he wants children, and  you don't, he'll come to resent  you if you stand firm. And, by the same token, if he wants them and you give in you'll hate him for forcing your hand."
Asuka blinked. "I . . . it's not like that. We want . . . we . . . "
"You need to be in agreement on this matter," Kyoko said. "it's important. It's one of the most important issues a couple will ever face."
Asuka made a face. "It's not like that!" she said. "he . . . we . . . "
"You what?" Kyoko asked.
Asuka frowned. "Look, it doesn't matter. After Third Impact, we . . . "
"Asuka," Kyoko said. "Listen carefully, because this is important. The fact he was there for you back then? That makes him a good person." She held up a hand. "Yes, I realize this is confusing coming from me, but it's true. He looked out for you, and that's a virtue. But you must realize that that doesn't mean he's a good partner for you. If he doesn't want what you want you'll only wind up destroying one another."
Asuka chewed her lip, but said nothing.
"You need to talk to him about this," Kyoko said.
Asuka fidgeted. "He doesn't care about kids," she said.
"Are you sure?" Kyoko asked. "Have you asked him?"
Asuka fidgeted some more. "Well . . . " she began.
"You can't assume," Kyoko said. "You need to ask him directly."
Asuka ran a hand through her hair in frustration. "Fine," she said. "Fine! I get it! Stop lecturing me!"
"So you'll talk to him?" Kyoko asked.
Asuka nodded.
"And soon," Kyoko went on.
Asuka's brows knit. "I know mother. Jeez, let it go, will you?"
"Sorry," Kyoko said, holding up a hand. "Sorry. It's just, it's important, you know?"
Asuka huffed. "Parents are annoying," she said.
Kyoko smirked. "It's only because we're looking out for you, you know," she said.
Asuka glared at her and growled, and Kyoko couldn't help but laugh.

December 20, 2080

Misato was in the rose garden when she arrived. She reached for a rose, preparing to cut it, then froze when she sensed the presence of someone else. She looked up. One look at Ryuko's face told her all she needed to know.
"He's gone," Ryuko said.
Misato stared at her hands, her eyes moistening despite herself. "Hmph," she muttered. "Just three days. I thought he'd last longer than that." Ryuko flinched, and Misato grimaced. "Sorry," she said.
Ryuko let it go. "Where's grandmother?" she asked.
Misato jerked her head in the direction of the house. "Out back, near the fish pond. She's been there since . . . well, you know."
"Yeah." Ryuko made her way around the house, spotting Kyoko immediately as she arrived at the space beyond. The older woman was feeding seed to a flock of songbirds, oblivious to her surroundings. "Grandmother?" Ryuko asked.
Kyoko glanced at the woman, then turned back to the birds before her. "You're turning into a bad omen," she said.
Ryuko flinched. "Sorry, grandmother," she said.
Kyoko waved her off. "He's gone, then?"
Ryuko nodded. "Yes."
"They always were too dependent on one another," Kyoko said.
"The doctors said it was heart failure. I guess--"
"Of course it was," Kyoko said, interrupting. "He couldn't bear to live without her, so what else could it be?"
Ryuko frowned, but let it go. She gave her grandmother an appraising look. "You really did care for him, didn't you?"
Kyoko just stared at her. "I knew him for more than fifty years," she said. "Of course I cared for him. He was a friend to me, and he always did right by Asuka. I'll miss him, in what few days I have left."
Several moments passed in tense silence before Misato appeared at the rear entry to the house. "Hey you two," she said, "stop moping and come inside. I have something to show you."
Kyoko and her granddaughter exchanged a puzzled look, then shrugged and did as Misato asked.

Kyoko sat in her chair, waiting patiently while Misato served her guests tea. She rubbed her hands, trying to massage away the arthritis that plagued them. Not for the first time she shot Misato a jealous look; the woman was seven years her senior, but looked and acted far younger. "Alright, Katsuragi," she said, "what's this about?"
Misato grinned at her. "I'm glad you asked!" she said. She made her way to a bookcase behind the couch and retrieved a large book. She placed it on the coffee table before Ryuko and indicated she should open it.  Ryuko exchanged a glance with her grandmother, who just shrugged. Ryuko bit her lip, then opened the book.
It was a photo album. Page after page of pictures of Shinji and Asuka, beginning when the couple were in their teens. Ryuko flipped through several pages, then looked at Misato curiously. "You've had this all this time?" she asked.
Misato nodded. "It was just for them, you see," she said. "I wanted them to know the same thing I'm going to tell you now: they really did have a good life together. We always say those sorts of things, because they're expected, right? But even so, it's true. This here is proof."
Most of the photos were candid shots, at least in the beginning, seemingly taken without the couple's knowledge. Ryuko turned a page, and closed her eyes in dismay. "Misato, they're naked in this one."
"Tch," Kyoko muttered. "You always were a pervert, Katsuragi."
Misato chuckled. "Hey, it's not like you can see anything. Besides, they're cute."
"That's not the point!" Ryuko exclaimed.
Misato waved her off. "I know, I know. They got mad at me after that one, too, but they settled down when I explained the purpose of the book. They actually worked with me after that."
Ryuko frowned, unconvinced, but turned back to the book. Most of the pictures were somber, studies in human beings taking care of one another as best they could. Ryuko noticed that her mother was rarely smiling in any of them; most of the time her expression was haunted, or simply tired. There were exceptions, though; playing frisbee in Okinawa, a haughty smirk while dining out in Tokyo-2, a grin of triumph as she ground a knuckle into Shinji's head. Ryuko found a smile creeping onto her face despite her mood.
Ryuko came across a particular picture and smiled. It showed her and her parents, when she was about 13 years old. "I remember this," she said. "I had just played in middle school regionals for the violin. I remember mother said I did a good job." She frowned. "She doesn't look very sincere here, though. She looks bored."
Kyoko shrugged. "Well, of course," she said. "All you did was play a piece written by someone else. You did it your own way, which gave us a taste of what was to come, but that performance wasn't particularly noteworthy in and of itself."
Ryuko sighed. "Thanks, grandmother."
"It's hardly an insult," Kyoko said, staring at her. "It's just what parents do: we congratulate our children when they do something well, even if it's of no consequence to anyone else. That praise is meant as support, not a true recognition of achievement."
"I know, I know," Ryuko said patiently. "I have children and grandchildren of my own, I know how it works." She flipped to another photo, and chuckled. "Hey, look at this one. This is from when mom got an award for her work in medicine."
Kyoko made a face. "Oh, gods, she hated that. She thought it was so ridiculous."
"I know, right?" Ryuko said. "She kept saying 'But I'm not even a doctor! What the hell's wrong with them?' She was funny when she was indignant like that."
"It was all politics," Kyoko said, by way of agreement. "And it's unfortunate, because her work really was important. Just . . . not in the way they made it out to be."
Ryuko turned a page, and stopped. "It's dad," she said.
"Eh?" Kyoko asked.
"At the Beijing Restoration Ceremony. He looks . . . confused, actually," Ryuko said.
Misato grinned at her. "He didn't have a clue what was going on there. I kinda sprang it on him."
"Of course you did," Ryuko said, rolling her eyes.
Misato shrugged. "He would have weaseled out of it otherwise." Her expression turned fierce. "And that would have been a damn shame, because he deserved recognition for his hard work. It's because of him that China's still a country these days, and many tens of thousands of people have him to thank for both their living conditions and their livelihood."
"Wow," Ryuko said, "Just him?"
Misato nodded. "Yup. Beijing had an S2 engine, but it's because of him that that potential was extended to the many cities beyond. He tapped that potential and extended it to the whole of the country, and he basically did it single-handedly. it was a really big deal at the time, but he never really acknowledged it."
"Jeez," Ryuko said. "It's kind of depressing that they both accomplished so much and yet only defined their success by their treatment of one another. They both deserved better than that, I think."
"It couldn't be helped," Misato said. "They both suffered so much as kids that I don't think they knew any other way to live." She sobered a bit. "I guess that was my fault," she said, "but I never found a way to teach them otherwise. They just . . . " she shook her head. "They did the best they could, I guess, even if it hurt them."
Ryuko flipped to another page. "Heh," she said. "My finest moment."
"Eh?" Misato asked. Kyoko showed her the photo in question, taken shortly after Ryuko received the Tanabe Hisao prize for her musical accomplishments. Far from looking bored, in this picture Asuka had a maniacal grin on her face, holding her daughter in a headlock while she flashed the camera a V sign with her other hand. Shinji watched them both from off to the side, arms crossed, a bemused expression on his face.
"That's it," Kyoko said. She turned to Ryuko. "That's the difference between obligatory praise and true accomplishment. The first was obligation; when a child does something properly we're expected to encourage them, even though they haven't really accomplished a damn thing. But this," she said, pointing to the photo, "this was true pride. I've never seen her happier than she was on that day. Not once."
Ryuko flushed. "Grandmother, you're embarrassing me," she said.
"She was so . . . satisfied," Kyoko said, ignoring her granddaughter. "As though she knew that, by bringing you into the world, she had contributed to Japanese society in a way no one else could."
"She did that with her own work, though," Ryuko said. "Think of all the people who are alive today because of her . . . "
Kyoko waved a hand. "Pah," she said. "That was just building on the work of others. Mine, Yui Ikari's, Kozo Fuyutsuki's . . . there was nothing original about it, nothing unique. But the way she raised you, the way she encouraged you to defy convention and find your own path . . . nobody knew what to make of that. It's not something we Japanese do. But she didn't care, and here you are. She was so proud of you for that."
Ryuko frowned. "So I had to win an award for my mother's life to have any meaning?" she asked.
Kyoko waved her off. "Oh, she already knew, long before that," she said. "But that award was proof that everyone else did, too. It was confirmation." She gave Ryuko a thoughtful look. "Something changed in her that day. It was as though her burden was lessened, and she could finally relax in a way she couldn't before. It's hard to explain, really, but all I know for sure is that that was a very good day for her."
"I'm glad," Ryuko said. She continued to flip through the album, noting that the most recent photos were barely a week old. "All the way up to the end," she mused. She turned to Misato. "Thank you for this," she said. "I don't . . . it's easy to forget everything that happened, all the good times that they shared together. I'm glad you took care of them like this."
Misato smiled sadly. "It was the least I could do," she said. "After all, I was the source of their pain to start with."
Ryuko cringed. "Misato . . . " she began.
Misato silenced her with a wave of her hand. "Enough of that," she said. "Let's just remember our family for now, and think happy thoughts. Time enough for real life later on, eh?"
Ryuko nodded, letting Misato have her way. After all, it was as she said -- there would be time enough for real life later.

February 20, 2047

Shinji glanced up as Asuka entered their apartment. He frowned, noting her unusually pensive demeanor. "Something wrong?" he asked.
She shook her head, distracted. "No," she said, "why would there be?"
"You just seem lost in thought," he said.
She scowled at him. "Shinji, I'm the smartest person you know. Why is it unusual that I'd be thinking about something?"
"I dunno," he said, shrugging. "It's just not your style."
She frowned, then blew out a breath and let it go. She stared at him for a moment, then asked, "do you still want to get married?"
He gave her a strange look. "Where did that come from?"
"Something Ryuko said." She absently twirled a lock of hair around her finger. "Her career survey is due this week, and I was pressing her to finish it. She thought it was pointless, since she's obviously going to be a musician of some sort, but I said she had to finish it just like everyone else. And when I said that she just laughed and said, 'since when are we just like everyone else?' I didn't have an answer for her, but it got me thinking."
"Oh?" Shinji asked.
"She's right," Asuka mumbled. "We aren't like everyone else. We never have been. But even so . . . " She shrugged. "We went to school, just like everyone else. We got jobs. We have our friends, and our family, and it's weird but it's ours. It's real. And then, with Ryuko, we made a family of our own." She met his gaze, dropping her hands to her sides. "And that's what marriage is for, right? It's a way to tell the world 'this is our family', right?
"That's true," Shinji said, nodding.
She started pacing back and forth in front of him. "I hated the idea of getting married, since it felt like a sham. Marriage was for normal people, not us. We were pilots. We're too fucked up to ever be normal.  But . . . " She stopped, staring at him. " . . . we have a daughter together. We work, and we hold each other at night when everything goes to hell, and . . . " She shook her head. "How can that be fake? How does the notion that is even make sense?"
He shrugged. "Well, it's not like I disagree."
"You're not helping, Third," she groused.
"What do you want me to say?" he asked. "You know I agree with you, so . . . "
She sighed. "Do you want to get married, or not?"
"Of course I do," he said. He took her hands in his own. "If it's what you want, nothing would make me happier."
She blushed. "So, that's it, then. We're getting married."
"I guess so."
Any further response from Shinji was cut off by the tone of a cellphone's camera taking a picture. The Children turned and spied their daughter holding the offending object, a wide grin on her face. "Misato is gonna love this," she said.
Asuka and Shinji stared at one another. "Shit," she said.
Shinji just sighed.

September 19, 2018

Dr. Okada followed Asuka into his office, then sat in a chair while she took the couch. He kept the door open. "Good morning, Ms. Soryu. How are you feeling today?"
The girl drew her knees up to her chest and turned to stare at a wall in disinterest. "Like shit," she said.
The doctor frowned. "I'm sorry to hear that," he said. "I'll skip the pleasantries, then. Would you care for something to drink? Coffee, perhaps?"
"Whatever," the girl said.
He produced a can of coffee from the cooler by his chair, then handed it over. Asuka took it in hand, but didn't bother opening it. "Is there anything you'd like to talk about?" he asked.
"Not really," Asuka said.
"Hmmm." Dr. Okada scrutinized the girl carefully. "You sound like you don't want to be here," he said.
"Brilliant observation," the girl drawled.
The doctor shrugged. "Well, you can leave if you like."
Asuka shot him a quick glare, then returned her attention to the wall. "No I can't," she said. "If I did I'd never hear the end of it from Misato."
"Is that the only reason?" he asked.
She shrugged.
"Ms. Soryu," he began, "what would you like to accomplish with these sessions?"
"How about not getting raped?" she said acidly. "Can we manage that? That would be great."
Dr. Okada closed his eyes, letting out a deep breath. "I'm very sorry about that," he said. "I could make excuses about how we didn't know, but of course that's all they would be. But let me assure you, you won't see a repeat of that behavior here."
Asuka stared at him for a moment, then at the open door. "Whatever," she said. She opened the can of coffee and took a long swig. "Not like it fucking matters. I'm used to it by now."
"Oh?" the doctor asked.
"Everyone I've ever known has used me like that. My parents, Nerv, Misato, the boys at school, stupid Shinji  . . . that fucking doctor. They just use me to get what they want, and then they throw me away like garbage when they're done." She shrugged. "And why wouldn't they? Seems to be all I'm good for."
He ignored her question. "Is that true?" he asked.
She blinked. "Huh?"
"Has everyone treated you like that?"
She took a sip of coffee. "Don't ask stupid questions."
"Who, then?"
She sighed. "Kaji. My friend Hikari."
"Why are they different?" he asked.
"Kaji thought of me as a child," she said, "and Hikari didn't know me very well."
"I see," he said. "So, to Mr. Kaji you were useless, and Ms. Horaki was distant enough that she didn't care."
She nodded. "That's right."
He stroked his chin, checking his notes. "What about Mr. Ikari and Ms. Katsuragi?"
She rolled her eyes. "What about them?"
"You live with Mr. Ikari, don't you?" he asked.
She shot him a frosty glare. "I live next door to him," she said.
"Oh, I see," he said. "My apologies. Ms. Katsuragi indicated you were spending most of your time with him."
She flushed. "It's not like that!" she exclaimed.
"Oh?" He smiled at her. "According to her you were quite insistent about the matter."
"She's an idiot," Asuka mumbled.
"Why do you spend so much time with him, then?" he asked.
Asuka shrugged. When the doctor didn't take the hint she grunted and said, "he took care of me."
Dr. Okada quirked an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"After Third Impact," she said. "I was even more of a mess then than I am now, and he looked out for me." She frowned. "Sort of."
"Why would he do that?" he asked.
Asuka shrugged. "How should I know? Guilt, probably."
"That's an awfully cynical way of looking at it," he said.
Asuka shrugged again. "Whatever."
"Every time I see him, he seems awfully concerned about you."
"Tch," she said. "It's like he's obsessed. Every day I was away, he sent me stupid e-mails."
"Did that make you uncomfortable?" he asked.
Asuka stared at him. "What? No. They were stupid, not lewd."
"And he did this for two years?" he asked.
She nodded. "Yeah."
"That seems like an awful lot of trouble to go to to appease simple guilt."
Asuka took a sip of her coffee and didn't reply.
"Do you enjoy spending time with him?" he asked.
"It's fine," she said.
"Did you come back to Tokyo-2 to spend time with him?"
She glared at him. "I came back to Tokyo-2 to say goodbye and slit my wrists."
He stroked his chin, unfazed by her comment. "And yet you didn't."
She faltered. "Well . . . "
"Yes?"
She flushed a bit. "He said he . . . um, well . . . he said he wanted to be my friend."
He nodded. "Did you believe him?"
She shook her head. "Of course not, it's ridiculous."
He smiled slightly. "And yet, here you are."
Asuka frowned, but didn't reply.
"Is it possible he was telling the truth?" he asked.
"He's an idiot."
"Maybe so," he said, "but is it possible?"
Asuka ran a hand through her hair in frustration. "I don't know!" she snapped. "I . . . maybe."
"I see," he said.
She ground her teeth, glaring at him. "You're annoying," she growled.
"Hmmm."

Shinji jumped when he heard pounding on his front door. He opened it, finding Asuka on the other side. "Oh, hi Asuk--" He was interrupted by a hard kick to his shin. "OW!" he yelped. "What was that for?"
"Shut up, stupid Shinji! You've pissed me off enough for one day." She stomped down the hall to her apartment, jamming the key into the lock. She opened the door, then shot him a glare and moved inside, slamming the door behind her. A moment later the door opened again. She stuck out her head and said, "you better make something really good for dinner, if you know what's good for you!" She retreated back inside, slamming the door again.
"But you just kicked me!" Shinji yelled. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
"Shut up, stupid Shinji!" she yelled, her voice carrying easily through the walls. "Just. Shut. Up!"
Shinji stared at the door for a moment, then retreated back into his apartment. He made his way to the refrigerator, gathering ingredients as he started to make dinner. "Her therapy's gonna kill me," he mumbled.

June 4, 2035

Shinji entered the room, then closed the door behind him. He turned, looking at the figure seated at the only table in the room. He was just as he remembered him: heavy coat, despite Japan's eternal summer; white gloves; tinted glasses. His hands stretched before him on the table, palms down. Shinji met his gaze. "Hello, father," he said.
Gendo Ikari nodded, then waited while the younger man took his seat. After a moment he said, "It's been a while."
Shinji nodded. "Yes."
"Are you well?" his father asked.
Shinji looked away, shrugging slightly. "Most days," he said. "Better than Asuka, at least."
Gendo cocked his head. "The Second Child?"
Shinji didn't reply.
Gendo stroked his chin thoughtfully. "I never met her," he mused.
Shinji's jaw clenched. "No," he said.
Gendo returned his hand to the table. "I suppose I should have," he said.
Shinji shrugged again. "It doesn't matter," he said. He looked at his father. "We have a daughter, she and I. She'll be three years old in a few weeks."
"I see," Gendo said. His voice betrayed no emotion.
"She's . . . " Shinji paused, then looked at his father and said, "I never knew they could be so frightening. Children, I mean."
Gendo's eyes widened a fraction. He held his son's gaze for several moments, then looked away. "Yes," he said, nodding.
Shinji shifted nervously in his seat. Gendo opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it. His hand twitched nervously. "Your mother," he said. "Did you see her?"
Shinji closed his eyes. Of course, he thought. "Yes."
Gendo stared at him, then cleared his throat. "What did she say?"
"She said that as long as I was alive, I would have a chance to find happiness. She said that everything would be alright."
Gendo frowned. "Do you know why she left?"
Shinji shrugged. "She said the Eva would last forever, and that it would be eternal proof that mankind existed." He laughed lightly. "Well, that's what she said, anyway. But I was just a kid back then, so maybe there was more to it than that." He frowned, thinking. "Professor Fuyutsuki said she might have wanted to continue Adam's work on another world. But Asuka's mother thinks that's silly, and that all my mother wanted was to make sure the Eva could never hurt me again." He shrugged, then met his father's gaze. "I'm sorry, I don't know the truth of it beyond that."
Gendo leaned back in his chair. "All for nothing," he whispered. He looked at Shinji, a hint of regret in his eyes, then looked away. "That will be all," he said. "You may leave now."
Shinji nodded, then stood. As he turned to leave, his hand on the door, he looked back at his father. "After the trial," he said, "You'll likely be sent to prison."
Gendo nodded. "Yes."
"I can visit you, if you like." His voice was quiet, but the resolve in it was unmistakable.
"That won't be necessary," Gendo said.
Shinji looked back at the door, clenching the doorknob tightly. "And if I came anyway?" he asked.
Gendo stared at his son's back, his lips parted in surprise. He regained his composure and leaned forward, leaning on his elbows as he crossed his hands before his face. "Fine," he said. "Do as you like."
Shinji nodded slightly, then opened the door and left the room.